A Vampyre at Oxford Or, The Further Adventures of Abraham Van Helsing
by Gerald Fitzgerald
Summary: Abraham Van Helsing gathers his friends round and regales them with a ghoulish account of his previous encounter with a vampire. Part of the Gaslight series.


The Narrative of Doctor John Seward

It was, I believe, a dreary Friday evening, in one of the blustery days that seem to condone any attempts to actually leave a building; accordingly, I had enlisted the use of a Hansom to get me from my quarters at Purfleet Asylum to the Piccadilly home of Mr Ernest Moncrieff, an old acquaintance of mine. I was greeted by the man- a tall, languorous gentleman with a sharp-cut coat and sharper wit- and was quickly allowed into the building.

I was much surprised to see my former tutor and friend Van Helsing sitting in the corner of the room, engrossed in a dog-eared edition of _The Strand_. He looked up as I came in, and immediately had me in one of his firm handshakes.

'John!' he cried, 'How are you?'

His appearance cheered me immensely, as I had not seen him for a month, and I had been worried about his personal safety; he was, after all, quite old, although he had proved on numerous occasions that the prospect of approaching frailty did not worry him in the least.

'Quite fine, Bram-' I called him "Bram", a shortening of Abraham, as a memento of our university days, '-quite fine. May I ask what…'

I had been going to enquire about his absence, which had, as I have previously said, unnerved me immensely; but Moncrieff, impatient at our reunion, interrupted us, wondering why it was taking us so long to sit down and whether he could serve the claret yet.

'Of course, Ernest,' said Van Helsing, 'And let us sit by the fire; it would be a great shame to let it burn out independently!'

Ernest duly decanted the drink, and soon we were sitting, chatting merrily as the fire burned in the grate. I need not recount the entire conversation; but presently, as the last embers were burning, Moncrieff said:

'I say! This is rum. Like one of those school holidays, at Greyfriars. Three chums staying late.'

I confess that my mind was taken by this image, and I laughed. 'We used to tell ghost stories, if I recall. And frighten each other.'

'I must say, though, that you two fellows are able to outdo us mere mortals on the horror stakes. I still cannot believe that a Vampire could travel abroad at this day and age.'  
'It was not my first meeting with a vampire.'

This was from Van Helsing, and I must admit that I was shocked. I expect all of you will have read the account concerning the vampire Dracula, and the idea that he was not completely unprepared for the incidents that occurred surprised, and, I must say, slightly thrilled me. He saw my expression and gave a hollow laugh.

'Please, John, do not be surprised; I was a younger man then, although I did still teach at the university. It was before your time.'

I did my best to hide my emotions and, I must say, recovered magnificently. I instead said: 'Oh? When was this, then?'  
'1867, or thereabouts. I was teaching at Balliol College at Oxford.'

Moncrieff, meanwhile, was sitting there quite aghast, and managed to ejaculate, 'Why, my good fellow! Another ghoulish account? Do tell; I have known fellows to have some brushes with the Supernatural once or twice, but never as much as you!'  
And that is how Professor Abraham Van Helsing, my lifelong ally, came to recount his singular narrative.

Van Helsing's Schooldays

'My tale begins at the fine university-city of Oxford (began Van Helsing). I believe there are a few places in England that defy change; that go on doing the same things for countless generations, and Oxford is one of them. On several occasions I fancied that I would espy Jack Wilton or Lemuel Gulliver striding in their Elizabethan attire around the campus, as much at home as any other student. My college, Balliol, was one of the older ones; indeed, the very structure seemed to sing of an older day, where technology was viewed to be inferior to the Occult.

'I taught Literature at the school, and I am proud to say that I taught some of finest students in the year; I recall one student who, although being rather inactive, was inordinately intelligent, and had fantastical detecting powers; he was one of the famous Holmes clan, if I recall correctly. He had a rather unimpressive face, which shows that phrenology is not nearly as advanced a science as the common belief holds it to be. He revelled in the name of 'Mycroft'- rather an unusual name, I fear, but then his two brothers' were equally strange.

'Another prominent student was James Hook, and, although he cut a finer figure than Mycroft, it must be said that he seemed to have a darker intent, and, although he was undoubtedly a stickler for form, his malicious nature made him feared by the other boys. He was not a bully, but he ruled the halls of Balliol with an iron fist, dispensing justice, or a perversion of the same, as he went. The notion of the school's authority disgusted him, and he hated the idea of blind servitude, although he was always sure to follow the rules of fair play.

'There was one student who possessed a dull brilliance, and he came from fine, if slightly earthy, stock. He was quite a firm-shouldered, pugnacious figure, the epitome of the "British ideal", and had the invaluable charm of putting a brave face on everything. His name was Thomas- or Tom, as he was more commonly called- Brown, and he went everywhere with a group of like-minded cronies, the names of whom escape me.

'It so happened that one day in the summer term a commotion occurred that disrupted the gentle University life. A boy, one of the freshman who had recently arrived at the college, was found missing, with the last students who saw him being quite reluctant to communicate. The police, of course, were involved, but their endeavours came to nothing, and the matter was never settled officially.

'Mycroft, he of the quick detecting wit and dazzling tenacity, was not satisfied, and he decided to look into the matter. I was drawn into this both as a figure of authority and due to the fact that the young Holmes was fond of my company (English Literature was his favourite subject- the extrapolation of unlikely scenarios thrilled him slightly). He had already done some investigations independent of me; and he recounted the facts of the case in the following manner.

'The boy, whose name was -, had been missing for two days before we decided to investigate the circumstances. He showed no sign of preparation; indeed, all of his personal belongings were still be his bed, and the room was quite as tidy as could be expected from a university student. His bed, however, had not been slept in, which was quite unusual; his friends had seen him enter his room, but did not see him exit it. The window was unlocked.

'I confess that I was utterly bemused- the boy had apparently showed no thoughts of flight, and an outside agent would have been unable to abduct him without considerable trouble. I was preparing to give up the case, but Mycroft was not satisfied.

' "The case, Van Helsing," the boy would say, "should not be discounted for its complexity, but rather lauded for it- how many cases can be said to have solutions which are all impossible? We must search for the answer which is merely highly improbable, and then we will have the truth."  
' "A neat turn of phrase, my dear boy. One of yours?" I would respond, to which he would answer, "No. My brother's."

'It was common in Balliol for visiting lecturers and suchlike to stay in one of the outbuildings that existed at the rear of the college, and at the time a Catholic priest, who went by the name of Father Ruthven, was staying there. He was quite a kindly soul, with a certain charming charisma that affected everyone he met. He was thin and wiry, and quite tall, with a pinched wrinkly face and a small wispy beard. As soon as he heard of the incident- it was the indomitable James Hook who had told him- he rushed over and held an impromptu meeting with us.

' "A great shame, mmm. I knew the child, of course, but only in the peripheral way that I am accustomed to know the children of the parish. His father, as I recall, was a doctor, mmm, though I can't remember his name- Donothing, or some such portmanteau- and he came from the small village of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh."

' "The only reason I say anything is that, yesterday, I happened to see the child walking down the street. He seemed curiously absorbed in his task; I tried to attract his attention, but he continued on regardless, mmm. The puzzling thing was that he held a revolver in his hand- it was slightly scorched, as though it had been recently fired; and, daubed on his clothing, was what seemed to be paint, but, now that I think back, mmm, it seemed to be-"

' "Blood?" cried Mycroft, to which the priest gave a sign of confirmation. Immediately, the boy jumped up, and started to the door.

' "Quick, Van Helsing! The game's afoot!"

'And so we began our calamitous career.'


End file.
